


(Your) Love Will Set You Free

by mistralle



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: First Love, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Reverse Robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 12:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistralle/pseuds/mistralle
Summary: Tim Drake and his complicated relationship with his successor.





	(Your) Love Will Set You Free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spazzTerror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spazzTerror/gifts).



> Beta'd by @chibi_nightowl

It didn't make any sense, not from where Tim was standing. He knew that the kidnappers only went for the rich kids, and Batman built his entire strategy around this fact. Tim had found every single one of the victims on his list.

This boy was different.

"Hey, hey!" Tim tried to be as unthreatening as possible, but he'd just thrown a huge hulking thug across the room and then hit him with a heavy safe. He suspected that this display would prove not very productive. "I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Okay, right, I'm Robin, and you are —? How should I call you?"

The boy swallowed and looked at him with wild eyes.

"I'm... Pete," he mumbled.

"Hi, Pete," Tim smiled as softly as he could. "Nice hiding place!"

'Pete' didn't react. He was hiding in a nook between a wall and a set of cabinets, huddled into his bloodied and dirty clothes so hard, Tim at first thought he was just a pile of trash. He only realized it was actually a boy after he threw that thug at the wall right next to him. Also he was willing to bet his monthly allowance that 'Pete' was not his name. Oh well.

"Do you mind if l have a look at your hands?" Tim asked softly. "I won't touch them if you don't want me to, but I need to see the damage."

'Pete' sniffled a little and eyed his outstretched palm with suspicion. Tim made himself go still.

He could feel the clock ticking, and the commotion in the building seemed to come closer, which – no good. But Pete was there, with his bleeding hands and mouth, with his wild eyes and panic written all over his small figure, and Robin just couldn't leave him there. All the kids in the building had Batman and the police to look after them, Pete had only him .

Slowly, cautiously, Pete reached out with his grimy, shaking hand. He gritted his teeth and resolutely placed it into Tim's hand, and looked up with resigned face. Tim carefully cupped his wrist and examined the sliced skin.

"Doesn't look like ropes or handcuffs," he murmured half-questioningly.

"Wire," Pete croaked. "I had to unwind it with my teeth". 

Tim sucked in a breath. That explained the blood.Huh. Those fuckers.

"Can you walk?" he asked softly, absentmindedly massaging Pete's hand with his thumb before letting him go. "We really should get you out of here."

Pete nodded and slowly raised to his feet, leaning on the wall heavily. Tim's mind whirled. This was definitely a street kid, too filthy, underfed and wild-eyed to be a recent runaway. Why did they bring him here?

The comm in his ear crackled to life

"Robin," Batman growled worriedly. "Nightwing is growing frantic. Where are you?"

Tim apologetically nodded to Pete and clicked the mic on. "I'm in the office. Found another civilian here, bringing him outside right now."

"Hurry." Batman grunted, clearly distracted by his own fight. Someone screamed in pain. "The police are nearly here, and we still haven't found Tim Drake."

Tim tsk'ed disapprovingly. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He cut off the link and sighed. "Change of plans. Grab onto my neck, ok? I'll carry you."

Pete hesitated a little, but Tim could see him battling his exhaustion and the exhaustion was definitely winning. The boy gasped and squirmed a little when Tim hoisted him into his arms. His shoulder twinged in pain. "Please stop. I kinda fucked up this shoulder earlier, and we really don't need me dropping you, alright?"

The kid huffed and pressed closer, hiding his face into Tim's neck. Tim could feel him nearly burrowing under his chin. His heart was racing a million miles an hour, echoing in Tim's palms from under his oversized clothes. He heard a small sniffle.

"Hey," Tim murmured gently, "you are doing great. Really. You got yourself free of your restraints, you hid yourself - pretty well, I must say. That was brilliant, Pete." He tried to walk faster. The screams behind them reached a pitch of souls screaming for mercy in Hell. Tim smiled grimly. Nightwing could certainly elicit such reaction.

They slipped out of the hidden backdoor into a narrow alley. Tim carefully sat Pete on the ground and grabbed a flask out of his utility belt. "Here. Just... Don't rush, ok?"

He had to help Pete hold it while the boy gulped the water greedily and held him up when the boy inevitably choked a little and started coughing, patting his back until the cough subsided. Pete winced away with a painful groan and Tim gritted his teeth. Ribs - bruised? Broken?

Carefully, Tim dabbed at the drying blood with disinfectant wipes, shushing absentmindedly when Pete hissed at the sting. "Sorry, sorry. Nightwing or Batman will be here soon, and they'll do a better job..." He cut himself off at the sound of the sirens. Shit. "I really need to go back and see if everything's all right there. Can you stay here for a while?"

Pete gave him a jerky nod. Tim smiled at him and reassuringly patted his shoulder, then, following some instinct, sneaked him an energy bar. The kid looked so exhausted and half-starved, it was a wonder that he could still sit upright.

"It's gonna be okay. I'll make sure they'll never hurt you again." Tim caught Pete's eyes and fought to keep his face calm, to keep all of his anger inside. "I promise."

"'Kay." Pete blinked slowly. His eyes were bright blue and a bit glassy from shock and exhaustion. "Thanks. Robin."

Tim slipped back inside, hoping against all odds that Nightwing will be able to channel his inner caretaker and not scare the poor kid further.

He didn't need to hope though. As soon as the dust settled and Timothy Drake was safely returned to the waiting arms of fretting Brucie, he learned that the alley was empty aside from a couple of discarded bloodied wipes and an energy bar wrapper.

"We can't save everyone," Damian reminded him wearily.

And this was something Tim had to learn to cope with.

 

The Club was illuminated in soft golden light that made the copious amounts of glitter shine in an otherworldly manner. Tim narrowed his eyes, drowning everything in a warm haze.

“You did a wonderful job, son,” Chris said. He was old, ‘old as balls’ by his own account, gaunt and with skin which would be appropriate to be called wrinkled maybe twenty years prior. Tim gave him a lazy smile. Alcohol made him relaxed and half-sleepy, and, maybe, a bit more tolerant.The constant buzz of background rage nearly disappeared and the venom that usually burst out with his words, burning and deadly, was just… gone.

Tim kinda hated it. He spent a lot of time accepting himself, but in the end he knew who he was – a petty asshole with barbs under his tongue. He was a bit confused about what he would be if that defining characteristic was gone.

“I really did!” he laughed agreeably. Chris chuckled. His murky eyes had a look of a man much younger, someone in his prime who got imprisoned in a failing body. The glass he held shook almost imperceptibly in his hands, and the clinking ice cubes sounded the final toll.

The New Year’s party at The Club was held at a perfectly partitioned building. The main entrance led to a dance hall full of dancing bodies. Tim could feel the bass in his bones even though they were separated by at least two floors and all the money he invested in sound insulation. But they were sitting in a much calmer and secluded place, on a small balcony overlooking an artfully sectioned room with a brightly lit scene. There were only eight tables, all of them perfectly masked and hidden in small alcoves.

“I do like your Neon Knights idea,” Chris said. “It’s.. a good thing.” He drank his scotch with desperation of a dying man. “You know, Tim, our Lord told us many things. He told us of camels and needles, of rich men and Hell, but what he failed to mention was that money is a damn drug. It’s more potent than any potion invented by mankind. Devil’s creation if I ever saw one.” He drank again and shook his head forlornly. “You’re young, and the Devil’s song has not deafened you yet, so you can follow God’s plan. But any man ages, and by the time silver claims his hair, his heart is overtaken by gold. And the God’s path is closed to him!”

Tim raised his eyebrow with distaste. “I’m not what you’d call a devout believer,” he drawled. “With human sins, I like to think that I am old enough to assign the blame where it’s due.”

Chris laughed. It was a dry and painful sound that crumbled to dust in the lights.

“You do God’s work, boy.” He clapped Tim’s shoulder and shakily rose to his feet. “That’s more than I can say about vast majority of the people I know. You know, many hoped that after what happened to your old man, Wayne would take you in officially. Shows what an idiot he is, to take in that street rat instead. His great-grandfather is rolling in his grave… You have my support, young Drake.”

Tim rose to shake his hand and watched him leave. Distaste colored his mouth in notes of rot.

That ancient fossil remembered the blinding turmoil of the thirties; the whole century turned before his eyes like a decorated bauble. Christopher Laurton was cunning and ruthless enough to survive it and to carry his empire on his shoulders through every hurdle.

Tim sipped at his glass and frowned. The old man reeked of owl shit. And he knew better than to ignore it. Tim Drake was many things, but he wasn’t ignorant, and he learned that listening to his gut always paid off in the end. When he declined Bruce’s offer to adopt him and accepted Ra’s tutelage instead, he got an opportunity to cripple American coast of operations of the League of Assassins. On a hunch, he took the fight to Gotham and lured the Council of Spiders to Arkham Island to contain the future damage - and he found Jason instead. 

The door of his private booth opened, carrying the echo of a much livelier party. Tim closed his eyes. It was either an assassin or one of his meddling quasi-family. He was too tired to deal with either.

“Looking good, Mr. Drake,” drawled a familiar voice. Tim’s eyes snapped open.

The first thing he saw was unfairly defined abs, glistening from sweat. Jason Todd towered over him with a winning grin, clad in a pair of black vinyl trousers that left nothing to imagination, an empty armpit holster, and some kind of punk collar intricately woven of leather strips and chains. Tim had to swallow.

He could deal with Damian’s theatric grumpiness and with Bruce’s angst, but Jason… It was unfair. Jason was a cheerful asshole with a take-no-prisoners attitude and divinely defined muscles. Tim spotted a lipstick print on his biceps and was deeply unsurprised. The whole getup made Jason look like Boris Valejo’s wet dream. It was more surprising that he boasted only one mark.

“And what are you doing here, young grasshopper?” he drawled, taking control of himself. “Aren’t you supposed to mingle at the kiddies table?”

“I continue to be impressed with your agism,” Jason clicked his tongue, uncomfortably reminding Tim of Damian. “You’re only three years older than me.”

He pulled the drink from Tim’s unresisting hand and sipped it thoughtfully. “Can’t I just visit my once-almost-brother in peace?”

Tim snorted and mock punched him in the stomach, theatrically shaking his hand afterwards. The skin under his knuckles was hot. So hot.

“What does Alfred even feed you, bricks?” he mused. “Fine, make yourself at home, whatever.”

Jason sank to the carpet with more grace than he had any right to have, being a Conan the Barbarian wannabe.

He ended sitting neatly between Tim’s legs, and he was still as loose-limbed and relaxed as if they were at some Bat-clan gathering with Alfred running interference. Jason sipped at the stolen glass again and Tim tried to get himself in hand.

“As far as I know, you still can’t buy alcohol, unless, of course, there was another time-space incident no one informed me about.”

“Nah,” Jason continued drinking his limoncello and looked at Tim unrepentantly. “I’m not buying anything, am I? It’s your treat.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Jason finished off the drink and propped his elbow on Tim’s knee. “Come on, it’s only eight months. And I am well supervised, ain’t I? You’ll take care of me.”

“I’ll carefully drop-kick you in that wall!” Tim growled. Jason minutely shut his eyes, and when he opened them they were as expressive as the cowl lenses. “Cut the crap,” he advised, putting his palm on Jason’s damp neck in a parody of a caress. “What are you doing here? What happened?”

Jason snorted and shook his head, laying his temple on Tim’s thigh.

“I had a very shitty week,” he confessed. “I just thought I’d spend some time with someone who wouldn’t make it worse. Artemis and Bizarro are busy.”

Tim sighed and stroke his hair. “Wanna talk about it? I promise not to judge.”

“Really?” Jason arched his eyebrows. “Like that time when you recorded Damian’s rant and then put it as your ringtone?”

“But I didn’t judge!” Tim snickered and carded his fingers through Jason’s hair again. And again. It was damp, it was so thick, and it started to curl. He loved the feeling of Jason’s locks winding around his fingers, and he just… couldn’t stop.

Jason hummed and headbutted his palm. “Do it some more. Me like.”

“Are you drunk already?” Tim lightly scratched his nails down Jason’s scalp.

“Please, this wouldn’t even put a buzz in me back when I was twelve. Though, I give you that, it does taste like your fucking Zesti.”

Tim laughed and cupped his face gently. Jason closed his eyes and leaned into his hand.

“B is still giving me shit for choosing to fly solo as Red Hood.” Jason smiled sardonically. “Apparently, it’s an unhealthy way to cope with a trauma. And that’s coming from a grown man in a kigurumi who spends his nights beating up random people on the street.” 

Tim snickered. “Next time remind him that when I was dealing with my traumas, I chose to learn under Ra’s al-Ghul and blew up about a hundred of his bases. I think you are doing just fine, Jay.”

Jason huffed a laugh and rubbed his face over the soft fabric of Tim’s trousers.

He had scars on his cheeks. An invisible patch of rough skin that was split too often in the past; a white cord bisecting his eyebrow; a pinkish swath on his slightly crooked nose… Tim carefully covered a small furrow at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Jason smiled sleepily and rubbed his face over Tim’s pants-clad leg.

All of these marks had been inflicted by the Joker. Tim was close to howling in rage every time he saw them.

That he was the son Bruce chose himself, not by blood, not by obligation; he met Jason, and he nearly broke time and space racing to adopt him.

He was the boy who survived the streets of Gotham, first as a homeless kid and then as a Robin; the one who lived through several months of captivity with the Joker’s tender mercies until they found him. Jason fought his traumas, and his demons, and his family’s bullshit on a daily basis, and Tim loved him so much – once he got to know him.

Chris called him a street rat, Tim thought in rage. And not only back when Jason was still a half-starved kid with thief’s fingers and hunter’s eyes. It didn’t matter to him that Jason spent years in one of the richest families on Gotham, in the eyes of the upper crust he still was little more than a flea-ridden dog.

“Hey, hey!” Jason was suddenly kneeling in front of him, clutching at Tim’s tie. “What happened? Was it me? Sorry, I didn’t mean to, I promise… I can leave if you want me to.”

Tim grit his teeth and roughly cupped his face with both hands. “Do you have any idea how brilliant you are?” he choked out. “Jason, you are amazing. You’re worth more than a dozen of those bloodsuckers who think they rule the world.”

Jason caught his hands and squeezed them. “I know,” he said soothingly. “And even if I start forgetting, you’ll be there to remind me.”

But Tim couldn’t just stop. “Bruce is an asshole, and Damian is a jerk, and I’m no better,” he continued, “but just, just listen here, Jason. You’re allowed to love people and call them out on their shit. Because you’re worth so much more.”

“Yeah,” Jason tugged his hands away and dropped a quick kiss on Tim’s thumb. “And so are you.”

Tim jerked away. He looked at Jason, completely lost for words. What could he ask, really? Jason knew what he was doing, he wasn’t drunk and he never fucked with people’s heads like that.

He was watching him with the same kind of bravery he showed in any fight that came his way.

“Don’t try to play it off,” he warned him roughly. “I want this. I’ve been waiting for you for years and I can’t wait anymore. So, Tim. We’re in a club, you treated me to a drink, showered me with compliments. Are you gonna take me home or not?”

Tim closed his eyes and breathed. This close he could feel the smell of Jason’s aftershave – the one he gave him for his birthday, something warm and musky. Jason used it nearly daily.

Opening his eyes, he pressed forward to touch his lips to Jason’s and felt him smile into the kiss. Jason huffed warmly and let go of his hands to pull at his tie again, not letting him pull away, not even an inch. He palmed Tim’s nape and slid his fingers into Tim’s overgrown mop of hair, twisted the strands just like that, and Tim moaned, biting lightly on Jason’s bottom lip, swallowing his answering moan.

Jason hummed and deepened the kiss, hungrily licking into his mouth, pressing against Tim’s front, scorchingly hot even through Tim’s perfectly buttoned shirt.

One hand cupped Tim through his trousers and he jerked away in surprise.

“Too much?” Jason panted, flushed and wild-eyed, his hand still so close Tim could feel the heat emanating from it.

“More like too fast.” Tim gasped for air and ran his hand through his hair self-consciously. Jason was still watching him hungrily. “What’s the rush?”

“Rush? Seriously?” Jason sputtered. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Have you even seen how you look in these suits? And you only wear suits now, like, all the time and fuck…” He yanked on his hair in a fit of exasperation. “Remember how you gave that press conference back at the beginning of the Neon Knights project? You were talking about all those possibilities, about second-third-fourth chances, and the only thing I wanted was to get on my knees, open your zipper, and swallow you whole. Fuck!”

He rubbed his face tiredly. “I was sure back then that you wear your suits soft like fucking down, and I wasn’t wrong, was I? Soft, and smooth, and a bit scratchy, and now I want to ride you more than ever. So, Tim. Mister Drake. Take me to your place and fuck me. Please. Because I am literally dying here.”

Tim opened his mouth wordlessly. That… That was a bit unexpected.

“Okay.” He swallowed thickly. “Where’s your jacket?”

“At home.”

“Please tell me you didn’t drive here like this.”

Jason shrugged unrepentantly, his eyes never leaving Tim’s face. 

Tim could feel his heartbeat echoing in his bones. “Nevermind.” He sighed and got up. “You’re lucky I have a designated driver.”

“Oh? Whom did you rope into carting you around?” Jason obediently rose to his feet and followed Tim, falling into step beside him.

“No one.” Tim pressed a command on his watch. Underground, Redbird woke from sleep mode with a quiet purr and started on the Designated Driver protocol. No one could say he was anything but responsible.

Jason only arched his brow when Tim led him into an elevator and punched in a combination, designed to bring them to Tim’s personal garage. “No voice recognition?” He asked cheekily. “Seems a bit optimistic.”

“It has a brainwave recognition technology,” Tim answered and gleefully watched Jason’s face. “Helps to avoid incidents with brainwashing or body snatching.” Or modification by the Court of Owls, but he wasn’t sure how to break the news to him. He sneaked a look at Jason. He looked… happy. Trusting. A bit nervous, but understandably so.

Tim would need to scrap the initial plan on going undercover without telling anyone – besides Batman, of course. You couldn’t simply leave Batman out of the loop.

The doors opened and Jason let out an impressed whistle.

“Now that’s a beauty,” he sighed, breaking away to circle Redbird appreciatively. He patted the hood suggestively and gave Tim a heated look.

Tim’s cock definitely got the message, but he just snorted and flicked his fingers, making the doors open. “Don’t forget to put on the seatbelt,” he said getting behind the wheel. He waited till Jason was settled and flicked on the autopilot.

“Seatbelts stay on until we’re at my place,” he said firmly. “Don’t try to mess with them.”

Jason made a face but didn’t protest.

Tim closed his eyes and smirked slightly. Redbird purred contentedly, carrying them into the secret tunnels leading away from the Club and into Gotham, toward his base of operations. Home.

Jason’s palm found his thigh. Tim’s heart stuttered and his pants started to feel rather uncomfortable. He turned his head. Jason was watching him with dark, heavy gaze and his lips were glistening like he just licked them. Fuck.

“You’renot driving, are you?” Jason slowly stroked up his thigh, smoothing the soft fabric with his palm. Tim covered his hand and squeezed warningly.

“Not a fan of car sex. Seriously. You don’t want to explain Alfred how exactly you managed to brain yourself on the roof.”

Jason laughed and wound his fingers between Tim’s, relaxing against the leather upholstery and just watching Tim with a grin. Impossibly alive. Trusting.

The first time they sat like that was years before with Arkham Asylum fading into the rain behind them. Tim had squeezed himself into a replica of his old Robin suit and decided to go out with a bang, ridding the world of the Council of Spiders. He couldn’t believe himself. It was so well-planned, so dramatic and full of pathos, and resulted in him losing his spleen while Jason tried to staunch the bleeding with his broken hands and Lonnie screaming at them via radio.

Jason caught his gaze and smiled lazily. He looked content, and noticeably not traumatized by being in the same car. Tim slowly reached out and touched his face tenderly, marveling at the softness of the skin. Jason… shaved before coming to the club. Thinking in advance, then.

Tim felt like he was being studied, evaluated against a checklist, just like years ago, with him prostrated on a bed after his splenectomy, and Jason swaddled in bandages, wild-eyed, with wisps of madness flitting behind his pupils, and remembering the split-moment decision he made.

Damian had spent quite a lot of time studying the ruins of the cell Jason had been held in, and his findings spoke of the mind torture and brainwashing. 

Tim had decided on a mad gamble. “Thanks for saving me, Robin,” he had said.

And it had worked. It fucking had! Robin has saved Red Robin, short and simple, and it had been something stable and concrete, enough to bring Jason back to the present and ground him.

“Hey,” Jason called softly. “Don’t sleep on me just yet, okay?”

Tim smiled at him. That wasn’t going to happen.

As soon as the car stopped, he led Jason through his own cave, with the tech lights glimmering and filled with the hum of the coders. It smelled like popcorn inside, and Jason gave him an incredulous look.

“I’m a grown-up, I can install a popcorn machine in my cave if I want,” Tim informed him haughtily.

“I fucking love you,” Jason said in all his seriousness and pulled him into a kiss. Tim could feel his smile, and he tried to lick it off. He allowed himself to trace the line of Jason’s back with his palms, all muscle and scarred skin, and Jason moaned brokenly, clutching at his shoulders like it was getting hard for him to stay upright.

Tim brought them to his bedroom where they spent nearly five minutes getting Jason out of his ridiculous pants. He had to crack jokes and laugh, and make Jason laugh too, because there was something vulnerable in his eyes. Something close to mortification, and that just wasn’t right. Sex should be fun. Something enjoyable, something to be remembered fondly. So he pressed his lips to Jason’s skin right below his navel, and he nuzzled a trail of dark hair, breathing in his heady, musky scent. 

Jason growled and pressed his head closer, pulling at Tim’s hair. He was hot and heavy on his tongue,and so incredibly tight around his fingers. Hard muscle became pliant under Tim’s palms, and Jason keened, chasing Tim’s lips and shuddering. 

He was impatient and constantly moving, and his damned collar slowly drove Tim mad, because there it was, Jason’s neck, arched and vulnerable, his for kissing, biting, and marking, and yet each time he went for a taste, he got a mouthful of leather instead.

Tim spat reflexively and made a face. “Off.”

Jason snickered and quickly licked his chin. “Sorry, the collar stays,” he purred.

With a wicked grin, Jason drew his knees up, drawing Tim’s attention back to his ready and waiting body. He relaxed readily at the first push, his body opening up so easily, so gladly, and Tim traced his fingers down his front and rested his hand on Jason’s shaking abs, quivering at the suppressed urge to tense up.

Tim bottomed out and Jason arched with a small “Ah,” and exhaled harshly. 

He turned his head and blindly grabbed for Tim’s head, tugging him forward into a sloppy kiss. “Damn.” Jason panted against his lips, and Tim had to close his eyes, because he was clenching down on him, around him, squirming and moving, and swallowing small moans. “Tim, move.”

So he did.

***

Tim grabbed the phone at the first growl of the vibrating case over the wooden bedside table.

“’lo?” He sat up, disoriented and still sleepy. His body was sore and tired, screaming for more sleep.

“Timothy Drake,” bit out familiar voice.

“Artemis of Bana-Mighdal.” Tim rubbed his eyes. “To what…”

“Jason is missing, and he will die if we don’t find him,” she snapped impatiently. “Circe placed a cursed collar on him, and if we don’t get it off…”

“Wait,” Tim squinted at the sleeping lump next to him. Jason was nearly buried under the blanket, but he could clearly see his neck. The damn collar was nowhere to be seen. “Jason’s with me, and decidedly un-collared.”

“Oh, thank all the gods!” Artemis gasped. “She said that he would be tethered to that year by his old regrets, something about unrequited love that saved him twice. So he found the way to get himself out, and didn’t tell us. That mongrel!”

“I’m… pretty sure that he just didn’t have time to do it,” Tim drawled slowly. “He’ll contact you soon…-ish. Happy New Year, Artemis.”

“Happy New Year, Timothy Drake.” She hung up and Tim stared at the phone dumbfounded. He slowly turned to Jason and sucked at his teeth in a tick picked from Damian.

“Do you maybe want to tell me something?” he asked slowly. 

Jason sighed and flopped around to face him. “I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve.” ee said calmly. “And you love me too. Or I’d be dead already.”

Tim massaged the bridge of his nose wearily. It was just… unfair. Why couldn’t he get a break just for a day? C’mon, just a day to relax and not feel the Damocles sword of the Universe’s ‘Fuck you’ hanging over him.

Hot lips pressed against his temple and were gone in a flash.

“Stay in bed.” The mattress dipped. “I’ll make coffee and explain.”

Tim raised his head and exhaled shakily.. 

Jason stopped for a second and looked at him over his shoulder, smiling warmly. “Hey, thanks for saving me… Robin.”


End file.
